A Pound of Flesh
by hell rings
Summary: Mammon follows Belphegor's life with a constant, disinterested gaze from under his hood, despite Bel's antics and odd displays of affection. But when the prince's past comes back to haunt him, the entire Varia is left in shambles and Mammon must make a decision: to get involved, or to continue to stand on the sidelines.
1. prologue

How it had it had come to this, Mammon had no idea.

The illusionist shuts his eyes, resting his head against the heavy trunk of a tree he's leaned against, muttering curses to himself. He can feel the uneven bark jutting uncomfortably into his back, feel the soft dirt and hard roots he's sat upon, feel Belphegor's sleeping hands clinging almost desperately to the cloth of his dark robes. The air is humid and causes his hair to stick to his soot-covered skin, and he's tempted with the urge to pull down his hood and expose his face to the quiet forest – the very god-forsaken place where animals shit. All of the money in the world couldn't calm the rage slowly building inside the mist-user.

Sucking in a breath through his mouth, Mammon licks his lips and glances down to his lap, only to see a dim outline of Belphegor's face pressed into his stomach, searching for warmth and comfort. His sleep doesn't appear as peaceful as it does strained, and for good reason. Mammon would hate for him to be having sweet dreams anyways; if he had any inkling that Bel was enjoying his little nap, he would certainly plague him with nightmares for the night, and possibly for the rest of his life.

"Stupid boy." The arcobaleno hisses to the resting blonde, tone hushed as to not wake him, and he digs his nails into the palms of his own hands. "I should have let you die. Look what you caused." Biting the inside of his cheek in impatience, Mammon exhales sharply through his nostrils and turns his gaze elsewhere.

Through all of the trees and brush, he can still see smoke rising to the clouds in the distance, illuminating the blackened sky with a twinge of furious red. He could go back. He could go back to the Varia – whatever remains of it, anyways – and give them back Belphegor. Mammon could let them 'deal' with Bel, and he could make a quick escape. Maybe return to being Viper… but he shed that skin long ago, didn't he? No, he would need a new name. An entirely new self.

And then both Mammon and Belphegor would be dead. It would be a suiting end for them, he thinks.

Raising a hand, Mammon wipes some sweat off his brow, and risks a peek at Bel once again. He could even kill him now. It would be easy, and the idiot prince trusts him well enough to be deceived. Slipping his hand down to the ripper's thin neck, he gently presses his thumb over his windpipe, carefully listening and watching for any signs of discomfort from Bel.

The blonde tenses slightly, but doesn't wake.

Mammon removes his hand with a sharp frown.

"What a trusting fool."


	2. chapter one

"You're not fuckin' serious, are you?"

Squalo gave Lussuria a deadpan stare, completely ignoring the foreign child standing halfway behind the Varia's present sun guardian. "What do you mean?"

"The brat." Making a vague motion towards the blonde newcomer, Squalo snorts and puts a hand on his hip. "What is he – ten? The fuck is our shitty boss even thinking, allowing a kid into the Varia? He even speak Italian?" The silver haired man takes a step forward, leaning down a bit to get down a closer, scrutinizing look at the child.

His hair the shade of corn silk and cut in the most ridiculous and inconvenient fashion, Squalo isn't sure if the kid could see anything. As if to prove a point, the second in command of the Varia waves his hand in front of the child's face, promptly earning him a sharp, pointed frown. So he can at least _see_; that's nice to know.

Pursing his lips, Lussuria rubs the back of his head and shrugs his shoulders. "He's eight, actually, and his name is Belphegor. I picked him up from the private jet that Boss sent for him this morning, but he won't tell me where our poor little Bel is from, or anything about his particular circumstances. Bel hasn't said anything to me at all, either. He might be shy." Turning to the affectionately dubbed Bel, the martial artist smiles brightly and clasps his hands together. "I'm sure this must be intimidating for you, huh? And you're probably tired too. Here, let's take you to your room. You're on the same wing as Squalo here; isn't that neat?"

Lussuria offers out his hand to the child, letting out a friendly hum, and falters a moment after he's ignored. He returns his hand to his side, pumping up his winning smile to full blast. Alright – so Bel might be aversive to physical contact, but he can't let that rain on his parade.

"Oh – oh, this is fuckin' great." Raising his arms in a defeated signal, Squalo steps back and rolls his eyes. "We got a mute _eight _year old piece of shit brat to baby sit now. Tell the goddamned Boss that I hope he's happy about this whenever he gets back from where ever the hell he's dicked off to because I have a mission in two hours, and I'm not drunk enough to deal with this shit." With that, Squalo pulls away from the pair and storms out of the room with the force of a tropical storm, purposefully smacking his hand angrily against the doorframe as he leaves. However, he turns around to glare at Lussuria and scrunches his nose at him. "Oh, and give the damn brat a bath before I get back too; he smells like blood and fuck knows what else."

Waiting until Squalo is finally gone to say anything else, Lussuria pulls a face and slumps his shoulders. "Don't mind him; he's just a sourpuss." He taps his foot against the marble tile of the floor, and puts a finger to his chin. "I suppose I'll show you to your very own room now, and I'll work on retrieving a uniform in your size. You'll be so adorable." Lussuria can't help but to squeal a little to himself at the image, balling his fists in front of his chest and wiggling a bit. "Oh, oh, oh! I can't wait until you meet the rest of the team too! You're going to have a lot of fun here, even if we are the big and bad, scary mafia." He runs a hand through his 'hawk and looks proudly down to Belphegor, overlooking the fact that the boy looks more bored than he does excited.

Lussuria watches him for a minute, noting how… listless he is, and then gently sets his hand on the child's shoulder. Despite the fact that Belphegor flinches and tries to shrug him off, Lussuria keeps his hand planted on him in case he decides to run off somewhere. "Come now. I'll bring you some lunch up to your room later and you can rest up. Jet lag is a pain, hm?"

Not expecting an answer from Belphegor, the flamboyant man begins leading the Varia's newest assassin through the room, exiting through a marble archway. "This is the main lobby," he explains, sweeping his free arm out as if it would give Bel a better view of the place. "That hall takes you to the kitchen and the west wing, and over there would be the east wing. It goes to the sun-room, and to the medical ward. If I'm not in the kitchen, I'm probably in the clinic to make sure everything is running smoothly."

Letting out a chuckle, Lussuria points his thumb to himself. "I've taken up the role of the mother hen of the bunch, so if you want to call me 'Mama', I'm absolutely peachy with it!"

When he receives a blank stare from Belphegor – or what he assumes is a stare – Lussuria's smile softens and he removes his hand from the young prince's shoulder. "Ah, but you don't have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable. Up here is the second floor, where the bedrooms are! Since Xanxus told me that you're going to be one of the inner circle, you get your own bedroom, unlike the usual newbies. And the third floor has Xanxus' office, the meeting rooms, and a few training rooms. Everything else is various rooms used for whatever. Most are empty, so feel free to explore whenever you'd like to. This place is your home just as much as it's mine or anyone else's here."

Belphegor follows his chatty and newly appointed 'Mama' up the winding grand staircase in the center of the luxurious room, trying to drown out the man's voice by memorizing every nook and cranny of the mansion he can see. So far, he's counted nearly two hundred steps from the entrance to the top of the stairs (this place is _huge_), over thirty still-life paintings, twelve imported vases that are just begging to be tipped over, and seven rugs that could be considered borderline tacky compared to the rest of the fine décor of the mansion.

But, as beautiful as the Varia headquarters is, it isn't nearly as imposing or as extravagant as the castle back home. The blonde lets out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of his hand on his cheek, and makes a mental note to kill Lussuria, the loud man from not even ten minutes ago, and whoever else lives here. Perhaps after a nap, since he's admittedly curious to see what his room could possibly look like.

Maybe joining the Varia was a mistake. Then again, it is the only place he was able to find that was offering refuge for him, and the promise of being _paid_ to kill people certainly is not something he can overlook. He'll just have to decide on what to do sometime else. If this turns out to be nothing but a waste of his time, he can always sneak out.

Lussuria stops to point out a few more rooms to him – none that Belphegor could possibly care about – and then finally opens a door to what Bel assumes to be his bedroom. Shuffling in front of the martial artist, he steps inside and stands awkwardly against the wall. The room is spacious – just as spacious as his old room was, although he had to share the room with Rasiel then. The walls, white with an intricate, regal-looking gold pattern, are plain to Belphegor's eyes, and the hardwood floor and meager furniture annoyingly bare. There's a comfy looking bed, a dresser made of some unidentifiable wood, and a simple desk.

How very impressing.

"Well, it's a little barren right now, but we'll fix it right up for you and make it nice and homey, alright?" Lussuria prances over to the king sized, four-poster bed and strikes a pose. "Very roomy!" He smooths out one of the several large pillows, then trots to the opposite side of the room, and opens a door. Going inside, the man sticks out an arm and waves it around. "Walk in closet, huh? For your clothes, or any, ehe, collections you might have later on." Lussuria walks out, putting a hand innocently over his mouth. "Of course, you're too young for anything like that."

Bel pouts a little, and picks a piece of lint off his shirt. This is getting a little sad. Looking back up to the martial artist, he crosses his arms over his thin chest and steps away from his place at the wall. "Leave now."

"Eh – pardon?" Lussuria blinks, taking to absently adjusting his sunglasses in confusion. Did he just speak?

"I said go away." The child points at the door, a determined look set on his face. He stands there, stiff, until Lussuria nods in acceptance and begins his trek across the room to the door.

Stopping just before he leaves, Lussuria turns back and smiles apologetically. "Ah, whatever you say, Bel. Get some rest, okay? I'll be back in a few hours or so with your uniform and something for you to eat."

* * *

Setting a glass of whiskey he stole from Xanxus' cabinet in his office onto the dining room table, Squalo kicks back languidly in his chair and snorts. "Look, I gotta leave in like… ten minutes if I'm going to catch my plane to Portugal." Taking a quick glance at his watch, the swordsman nods and continues. "Yeah, like, ten minutes. So whatever you're gettin' at, you better hurry it up."

Sighing, Lussuria pinches the bridge of his nose, and crosses his other hand behind his back to quell the increasing need to smack some sense into his fellow officer. "Great, you're drunk and you're going on a mission in ten minutes," he mutters to himself, taking note of the red, watery look around Squalo's eyes. Lussuria slides into a seat across from his teammate's, and rests his head in his hands.

"Do you think it's right for us to have a child in the mix? We're not exactly… equipped for raising an eight year old. I'm worried for him."

"Hell no, we ain't raising no goddamn kid." Making an exasperated noise, Squalo looks past Lussuria to stare out a window. The summer sun is annoyingly bright, but it should be going down soon. He grabs his glass to take another sip of alcohol, returning his hard gaze to the martial artist. "Xanxus is a fuckin' idiot thinking some brat barely out of diapers is going to make a good addition to the team. There were plenty of other candidates he could have chose. You know, ones that actually speak."

Lussuria sighs and taps his finger against the surface of the table. "He did speak to me today."

"Oh?" Leaning forward curiously, Squalo smirks at the other. "What'd he say then?"

"He told me to leave. It was after I showed him to his room."

There's a slight pause, and then Squalo bursts out into laughter, as if he were expecting that very answer. "You're shitting me, right? He have an accent?"

"Not one I could tell. I doubt he's from Italy though."

"Why not?"

Lussuria shrugs, tapping the table a little quicker in irritation, and presses forward. "I don't know. He just doesn't seem Italian. Why does that matter though? I don't think you understand my concerns, Squalo."

The swordsman raises his eyebrows, lips set in a thin line. "No, I'm pretty damn sure I get it. I just don't care is your problem." He pushes back in his chair, making sure to scrape the floor loudly as he does so, and holds the bottle of whiskey loosely at its neck. "It's none of my business, or your business, to take care of the kid. We're not parental figures for him, and we ain't gonna be. Ever. We're assassins, plain and simple. And if the shitty boss wants this new brat to stink up the place, then so fuckin' be it. If he makes it past the first week, then maybe we'll talk. In the meantime, I got shit to do and a target to kill."

Lussuria inhales deeply, lacing his fingers together, and pointedly looks away from Squalo. "I just don't see how you can think that way." Sitting stiffly, he swallows and then clears his throat. "You can order take-out tonight; I don't feel like cooking. Have fun on your mission."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Waving Lussuria off, Squalo pushes his chair in with his foot, and swings around to face away from the sun guardian. "Have fun being a little bitch."

Too stubborn to look to Squalo's retreating form, Lussuria closes his eyes and rests for a moment. It's been a few hours, so surely Belphegor must be getting hungry. The poor dear hasn't left his room for anything either, as far as Lussuria is aware of, and so he might be getting bored as well. Getting up to make a simple pot of macaroni and cheese, he hums quietly to himself while buzzing about the kitchen like a busy worker bee, finding some things to clean up as he cooks. The pot of noodles doesn't take long at all to finish cooking, and, wiping his hands on his pants and then cringing about it as an afterthought, Lussuria adds the cheese and puts the noodles in a bowl. Grabbing a spoon and a glass of milk, the man takes it upstairs to Belphegor's room.

He knocks on the door to Belphegor's room, with a dim smile. To say his spirits had been dampened with his conversation with Squalo would be a bit of an understatement, but he'd hate to let that show in front of anyone. It makes it hard too when Bel doesn't answer the door after nearly two full minutes of waiting as well. Knocking once again, Lussuria slumps his shoulders and pouts to himself. "Maybe he's just sleeping," he reasons to himself, wondering if there is anywhere he could put the bowl and glass down so he would have a free hand.

"What are you doing?"

Lussuria jumps a little, startled by the unexpected voice. Turning around quickly, he's met with Mammon, in all his floaty-wonder. "Eeh, I'm just waiting for our newest recruit to let me in. I made him mac and cheese, you see."

Receiving nothing but a near-silent scoff, Lussuria rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. Everyone has been so moody today.

"You're going to give the newbie some macaroni and cheese, _why_?" Mammon presses, tone skeptical. He eyes the bowl of food and the glass of milk, not quite getting why Lussuria personally has to bring food to someone. Unless he goes out of his way to prepare a group meal, everyone typically fends for themselves and eat whatever happens to be in the fridge.

The martial artist fidgets a tad, knitting his brow together and making a noise Mammon could only describe as 'distressed.' "The new storm guardian is eight years old, and his name is Belphegor. He's only been here for a few hours and has been refusing to speak to anyone, and no one other than Boss knows why he's here."

"He's _what_?"

"Eight." Lussuria impatiently clicks his tongue, momentarily turning his attention back to the bedroom door. "Bel, please open the door. Your food is going to be cold, and that won't be any good."

Mammon narrows his eyes, glancing between Lussuria and the offending door. This is highly unusual – children are not assassins, and can hardly grasp the concept of death at all. The mafia is not the place for an eight year old, let alone a group of rag-tag teenagers like the rest of the inner circle of the Varia.

The illusionist hovers a little closer to Lussuria, and then backs away from him. "Begging isn't going to make him answer you. If Boss trusts this child enough to let him join the Varia, then he must have a good reason. Looks are easily manipulated, and you are underestimating him before you are giving him a chance to prove his worth. You are forgetting that you are also young. Leave him be; Belphegor will come out on his own time. If the boy wants to starve, then so be it."

Lussuria bites his lip, returning his focus back to Mammon. "You're probably right… I'm only trying to make him feel welcome."

"Don't. It's not your responsibility. We're not family, and we're not playmates. We're coworkers." The illusionist lowers to the ground, growing tired of spending the energy to levitate. "And do not mistake yourself – I don't think that he'll survive for very long." Settling his tiny arms into the folds of his cloak, Mammon tilts his head up, edging a reprimand in his tone. "However, I'm not going to publicly question the decisions of our Boss, especially not whenever his lapdog can be around anywhere." Mammon sneers, as if mentioning the last part physically disgusts him. "If Belphegor wants to be in the Varia, you cannot coddle him."

Biting his lip, Lussuria turns his head to the side and huffs. "I suppose. Everyone is being so mean today, and I just wanted to make nice."

"You're so caring that it's almost sickening." Allowing a trace of a grin, Mammon motions for Lussuria to follow him. "But I cannot deny that your intentions are good. Now, let's go trick Levi into throwing himself out of a window; I know a way to make five thousand euros out of his misfortune."


End file.
